


Fuck John Winchester

by painted_whore



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dark, John Winchester Being an Asshole, M/M, Sibling Incest, Underage Rape/Non-con, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, this isn't hurt/comfort it's just a lead-up to fucked-up porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:53:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28025040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/painted_whore/pseuds/painted_whore
Summary: Sam remembers something from his childhood. About Dean. And dad.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/John Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 11
Kudos: 71





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the tags!

It was nothing really. It had happened many times like this before. Dean had said "No, no way I'm doing that." and dad had replied "Yes, you are, I am your father and you do what I tell you to do, son." in his scary voice - all rough edges, no understanding, no love, and no room for discussion.

Sam remembered the scary voice well. It had always been his least favorite part of dad. But when dad grabbed Dean's wrist, pulled him in, and waited for Dean's dutiful "Yes, sir", Sam remembered something else too:

A time when he had been in the backseat of their beloved Impala, grumpy because Dean had been told to ride shotgun again. Hours had passed, daylight trickling away, but they were still far from their destination, so Sam was told to sleep, and he had. But he had woken up somewhen later, when it was still pitch black outside. And for some reason, Sam remembered this now. Not the day after it happened, when the rising sun had woken him in the car, not the next time he had been told to sleep in the backseat while Dean had to sit in the front, not when Dean came to pick him up from Stanford to look for dad, not even when they had found dad again. Now. He remembered it now. For the first time since - how many years? It must have been ten.

A decade of blissful ignorance, suddenly wiped away, smearing itself over every other memory of his brother and father he had made since then, staining them.

He took in a sharp breath as the images started playing in his mind. Dean and dad looked at him, both pissed of, wanting to know what had elicited Sam's reaction. Sam couldn't explain. He couldn't get any words out. The blood was rushing in his ears, his vision blurred. Shreds of ten-year-old conversation started playing in his head. 

_"Check if Sammy's asleep." Dad's voice. Then a pause. "Good."_

_Sam tried opening his eyes then, just a bit, but he was too tired, half-asleep, mind drifting in and out of consciousness._

_"Come here, make your old man feel good." A pat on the leather seat._

_"No, no way I'm doing that again." Dean's words were hushed, trembling._

_"Yes, you are, I am your father and you do what I tell you to do, son."_

_A pause, shifting. A zipper being pulled down._

That son of a bitch. That disgusting, evil, vile son of a bitch.

_"I don't want to," Dean pleaded. Quiet, almost too quiet for Sam to hear. It didn't sound right. There was none of the usual rebellion in his brother's voice._

_"We've got eight more hours of road before us, the least you can do until you get your license is to make me feel comfortable."_

_"Please-"_

_"Shut up or Sam wakes up. D'you want Sam to wake up?"_

_No answer, just a whimper._ _Then, a few moments later, deep, heavy sighs and soft rhythmic sounds that lulled Sam into sleep again. He drifted off, thinking nothing of it, too young to understand._

He understood now. 

"Don't touch him," Sam said, trying to keep his voice calm, eyes fixed on his father in a blind rage.

John stared back, challenging him, but let go of Dean. He stepped closer.

"Sammy, what-" Dean started.

Sam raised his fist and took a hard swing at his father's face. 


	2. Chapter 2

Dean thought he had lost his brother. He thought that the time had come, something had flipped the switch, Sam had lost his mind.

He tried to stop him, but he was no match to Sam's adrenaline, so all he could do was watch while Sam beat the crap out of dad, not stopping when dad fell to the ground, not stopping when dad's face was bruised and bloody, and Dean thought that maybe Sam would never stop. Maybe he would punch their father to death and then everything would be lost.

But Sam stopped. After John had lost consciousness, yes. But he stopped. And that's what mattered.

Dean was shaking. He knelt down to check on dad (he was going to be fine, Dean hoped) and called 911. He took a few moments to calm down, then dared to stand up and face Sam, who was standing in the corner of the room, obviously out of it, and breathing heavily.

"What the hell, Sam?" His voice was a lot calmer than he felt. He really hoped there was an explanation for all this.

Sam was examining his own bruised fist, a grimace on his face. At Dean's words, he looked up. A second passed, and Dean felt the pain in Sam's eyes. It tugged on his heart, begging to be shared.

"I remembered." Sam's words were strained.

"What?"

"I'm sorry I didn't remember earlier." Sam's eyes glistened as they filled with tears. "I'm not ever gonna let him touch you again. I swear to you, Dean."

Dean's face dropped as he realized what Sam was talking about. "How-"

"I was awake. In the car. When he made you-" Sam couldn't finish the sentence. "I didn't understand at the time, I'm so sorry." His voice broke halfway through.

Dean felt like a wormhole had opened up under him. All his thoughts and feelings were sucked out of him, leaving nothing but an empty shell.

"It's not your fault," he managed to say flatly.

Sam gave a short, forced laugh that was really close to a sob. "I know it isn't." He looked at their dad, bloody on the floor. "It's his fault."

*

Dean wasn't sure how he managed to get them out of the motel and into the car, but he had waited, sitting behind the wheel, until he could hear the ambulance coming, then he stepped on the gas like there was no tomorrow. They flew down city streets, and later the highway, increasing the distance between them and whatever the hell just happened.

Dean felt bad, leaving dad like that. But more than anything he was scared. Of Sam. Of what Sam might have done if they had stayed.

So he drove. And drove.

Sam hadn't said a word since they had left. But after an hour or two (Dean didn't really keep track) he finally broke the silence.

"How can you still love this car so much?"

God, he sounded broken. Dean wanted to curl his arms around him, cradle him, play with his hair, tell him that everything was fine - just like he had done back then, when they were just kids, of stupid teenagers. Instead, he gripped the steering wheel tighter, turning his knuckles white.

"It's not a big deal," Dean lied. "Hardly the worst thing that has happened to either of us, huh?" He chuckled dryly.

Sam gave a disagreeing grunt, then finally stopped staring out of the window to stare at Dean instead. "It's plenty bad."

"A little road head's not gonna kill me," Dean simply says. "Takes more than that, a lot more."

Sam breathed in sharply and looked away again. "Roadhead?" His voice was filled with rage.

"Yeah, y'know- sucki-"

"I _know_ what road head is, Dean!" Sam interrupted him. "I didn't know he made you... do _that_."

"Oh." Dean swallowed heavily.

A few minutes passed, and Dean prayed that Sam would just drop it, or go to sleep. But of course, he didn't.

"How often?"

Dean sighed. "I don't know, Sam."

"Just tell me, Dean."

Dean hesitated for a moment. "In the car? Fifteen, or twenty times, maybe. I didn't count."

Sam punched the glove compartment, which made Dean flinch, thank god for his firm grip on the wheel.

"Fuck," Sam murmured. He seemed to think about it for a while, which made Dean uneasy.

"Always in the car, while I was asleep?" Sam asked.

"No," Dean replied honestly. "Mostly in the motels after hunts," he continued hesitantly. "When-"

"When I was sleeping."

"Yeah."

"I wasn't that deep of a sleeper," Sam said accusingly.

"No, you weren't." Dean cleared his throat. "Dad made sure you were. Better that way, anyways," - Sam punched the dashboard - "No point in you knowing."

"You should have told me."

"I am telling you now." Dean was getting pissed off. He didn't want to talk about it anymore.

Sam continued. "We could have run away."

" _Where to?_ " Dean shouted, suddenly no patience left. "Where the hell wouldn't dad find us, huh? Tell me, Sam!"

Sam didn't say anything, just turned to look outside again. It was getting dark.

Dean let him. Half an hour passed, and by the time Dean felt like he had calmed down enough to talk again, it was pitch black outside, except for Baby's headlights. Sam was picking at something on the seat, distracted.

"Anyways, it was a long time ago," Dean said.

Sam looked up to him, but Dean didn't meet his gaze, kept his eyes on the road.

"Was it?" Sam questioned suspiciously. "When was the last time?"

Dean clenched his jaw. He didn't want to think about it. But he owed Sam the truth.

"Once I was strong enough to-," he cleared his throat, "Once he couldn't... anymore, he said he would do it to you if I didn't let him." He paused, expecting Sam to say something, but his brother stayed mute. "So I let him. But then you had your growth spurt, thank god for that, and he knew he couldn't take you anymore. Not us both, anyway. So he stopped."

"Shit." Sam ran his hands over his face. "Dean..."

"Man, you would've kicked his ass if he had tried," Dean said with a chuckle before Sam could comment more. "You were so pissed at him _all_ the time, it was glorious."

Sam sniffed. "And I left." He groaned weakly, looked away. "I left you with him, when you begged me not to."

"S'okay, Sammy," Dean said. "Stanford was good for you."

"We should have left together. God, I'm so sorry, Dean."

"He didn't do it anymore then. It's alright."

"It's not alright, Dean!"

"Yeah." Dean sighed. "Maybe not."

They sat in an uncomfortable silence again, but Dean had one more thing to say, one thing to admit, and then it was all over, all laid out on the table. He had to dive into it completely so they could pull themselves out again.

"You know what the worst thing was?" he said carefully. Sam turned to look at him, shock in his eyes.

Dean didn't wait for a reply. "It wasn't the... the road head. It wasn't the-", he swallowed nervously, "It wasn't when he fucked me."

Sam beside him dropped his head with a whine, burying his face in his hands. "God, Dean..."

"Sammy," Dean choked up, words stuck in his throat as the tears spilled over. It hurt so bad, but he was so close to sharing the burden, he couldn't stop now. "It wasn't even that he threatened to do it to you, Sammy. It was- The worst thing, the very worst thing of it all, is that- that I-", he took a deep breath, trying to ground himself, "...is that I kinda miss it, sometimes."


	3. Chapter 3

Somehow, Sam managed to convince his brother to pull over at the side of the road. They were in the middle of fuck-knows-where, dark conifers looming all around them, the moonlight not quite enough to illuminate the car.

" _Dean,_ " Sam began when the motor was finally off and the stillness of the night threatened to drown them. He had felt his heart shatter into a million pieces at Dean's confession. Now he was unsure what to do.

Dean was still clinging onto the steering wheel, eyes pressed closed now, wet tear streaks on his face. He was breathing quick and shallow breaths, but no new tears came.

Sam reached out to him, carefully pulled off each of Dean's fingers until Dean's hands fell slack into his own lap. Sam took one of them into his own, squeezing softly.

"Dean," he said again. "I- I don't know what to say." He felt like the words were stuck in his throat, and swallowed heavily. "Thank you for telling me."

They didn't say anything for a while, but Dean's breathing calmed, and he finally opened his eyes. They were empty, emotionless.

"I'm so fucked up," Dean said. His voice was cracked, quiet.

"No, Dean—" Or maybe, yes. Sam had no idea, honestly. All he knew for sure is that he wanted to comfort his brother. "Is there anything I can do...?" Sam asked carefully.

Dean turned to face him, gaze lowered. He didn't say anything, but sighed softly and let himself fall against his brother, forehead against Sam's shirt.

Sam's heart glowed, and he slowly wrapped his long arms around his brother to hold him. He inched a bit closer to get more comfortable, and Dean buried his face in Sam, fisting Sam's shirt. Sam could feel Dean's hot breath through the thin fabric.

"It's been so long," Dean breathed. Sam almost couldn't make out the words. He tightened his grip on his older brother, but Dean shook him off and slowly untangled himself from Sam's arms, leaning back. His eyes were still red and puffy and glazed-over. He looked absolutely terrible, like a broken man. Beautiful, still, Sam thought. But broken.

"You think-" Dean started, eyes fixed to a point somewhere over Sam's shoulder. "You think he would still—?"

Sam cut him off with a quick headshake and a severe look. He didn't know what to say. In truth, he didn't know the answer. But he had started to believe that their father was capable of anything; It was a possibility. Sam hated that, and John, and everything.

"Please, say something," Dean begged. It pulled Sam back into the present.

Sam's heart broke all over again. "What do you want me to say, Dean?" he asked, " _Really_ want me to say?"

Dean shook his head instead of a reply, and Sam saw a calm wash over him like a tidal wave. Dean closed his eyes and took calculated breaths for a few moments.

Sam grasped his brother's arms. He wanted to shake Dean, snap him out of it. Instead, he squeezed softly.

"What now?" he asked.

Dean took another deep breath before answering. "You shouldn't have to deal with me... _this_ , Sammy."

Sam huffs in disbelief. "What would you have me do, Dean? Leave you on the side of the road? No. I'm not going to leave you. You're my brother. We're in this together."

Dean opened his eyes. "Exactly, Sammy. You're my baby brother. I should be taking care of you, protecting you, instead of..."

"Let me protect _you_ for a change, Dean. I'm not a kid anymore. I can deal with everything that's getting thrown at you, okay? Don't you dare not let me help. You owe me that much."

Dean licked his chapped lips and nodded, eyes dropped down in between their bodies.

It was then that Sam noticed how close they were, how intimate this moment was, and it turned his stomach in a peculiar way. But it wasn't the sickness he had felt earlier. No, it was a good sensation. Excitement. Butterflies.

He moved an inch closer, almost close enough to breathe Dean's air.

"How can I help?" he asked gently.

Dean sighed. "Make it go away."

"The memory?" Sam shifted uncomfortably. "There might be spell—"

"No," Dean interrupted him. "I mean, I want to stop... wanting it."

"Oh." Sam chewed on his bottom lip for a while, thinking. "How?" he asked finally.

"I don't know. Heaven knows I've tried." Dean lifted his arms in a weak gesture. "I slept with guys."

Sam took in a sharp breath.

"But it never really..." Dean looked around, eyes searching for something to hold onto. "It was never really the same."

"It wasn't... rape?" Sam asked, terrified of upsetting his brother with the word, but wanting to understand.

"No, that's not—," Dean chuckled dryly. "That's not it."

Sam was confused by his brother's reaction. "Well, then what is it? Do you know?"

"Uhhh..." Dean shut his eyes tightly, then opened them again and let them meet Sam's. "I guess."

Sam waited for him to elaborate.

Dean's adam's apple bopped when he swallowed hard. Sam found himself looking at it to escape his brother's stare.

"It's, uh, ..." Dean begins awkwardly. "Y'know. It was dad."

Sam pursed his lips and bit his tongue to keep himself from cursing their father. "I don't understand," he pressed out instead.

"It's always been just you, me, and him. Us and the road, and the dirty motel rooms, and—" He cut himself off. "Family."

"F-family?" Sam asked, heart beating faster — due to rage or anxiety or whatever, he didn't know.

"M-hm," Dean confirmed.

"For —?"

Dean nodded.

"Oh." Sam was speechless, his face burning. What a cruel prank from God to play on him.

"I told you I'm fucked up," Dean said.

"Hey!" Sam grabbed Dean's arm. "You're not. Dad did this to you!" A feeling of acidic guilt filled his stomach. "It's probably normal to feel that way after what happened to you," he continued as calm as he could.

Dean scoffed. "It ain't normal, I'm telling you."

Sam grimaced and let go of his brother, moving back a few inches to give him more space. If only Dean knew.

"I'll do whatever I can do to help, I promise."

Dean looked up at that, surprise written all over his face. "Anything?"

"Yeah." Sam swallowed. Dean had no idea how far Sam was willing to go.

"You don't mean that."

"Yes, I do."

"Really, anything?"

Sam clenched his jaw. "Well, what do you want me to do?" He couldn't help hope rising inside of him.

Dean shot him a challenging look. "Are you gonna make me say it?"

Sam hesitated. He wasn't sure if he was understanding correctly. It couldn't be... Could it? He needed to be absolutely sure, or he might make everything a thousand times worse.

"Yeah," he said.

At his answer, Dean's cockiness vanished completely, and he turned back to the steering wheel, a blank look on his face.

"So?" Sam asked after a minute or two. He didn't want to push Dean, but his heart threatened to explode out of him if he didn't drag the conversation along.

"I'm not going to say it," Dean muttered. "I just... _can't_."

"Please, Dean," Sam begged his brother.

"You say it," Dean demanded, confirming to Sam that Dean knew exactly what they were both playing at.

Sam took a deep breath and exhaled for a solid five seconds, eyes closed, gathering all his courage. Finally, he asked, "Do you want me to have sex with you?"

A second passed.

"Yes," came the almost inaudible answer.

Sam's world turned upside down. He felt dizzy, unreal, as if he was dreaming — whether it was a good dream or a nightmare he didn't know. He breathed out a shaky "Okay" and grabbed the car door's handle.

"Dean," he started, staring out through the window into the near darkness, "I'm going to take a breather, okay? I'll be back in five minutes, I promise. Then we can go wherever you want," he swallowed, " _do_ whatever you want. That alright?"

He saw Dean nod in the reflection of the window.

"Shout if you need me," Sam said earnestly, and exited the car slowly, looking back to make sure that Dean was still okay.

The night was cool and dark, the side of the road illuminated only by a streetlamp a bit further down. Sam stood next to the Impala's hood for about a minute, looking at his brother, who was barely visible in the shadows. Dean wasn't looking at him, staring at the dashboard instead. Once Sam was sure that he could leave him alone for a minute without having to worry he turned around and walked a section of road, from streetlight to streetlight. He was thinking about Dean, about how his most secret fantasy — no, it was more than that, a _desire_ — was becoming reality in the worst possible way.

He didn't want it. Not like this.

He wanted Dean to love him, to enjoy him. He didn't want to fill a void that their dirtbag father had left in Dean.

Despite this, Sam felt himself growing hard at the thought of it, the mere fact that — ignoring all circumstances — Dean wanted to have sex with him. That thought was at the forefront of his mind, and he felt like the most egoistic asshole in the world for it.

He wished he could go back and undo everything that happened today. He didn't want to remember dad using Dean. He didn't want to burn bridges with dad, not like they had done. It was dangerous, and dad could find them once he got out of the hospital — he knew how, had lots of practice.

The thought of John breaking down their motel room door and taking what he believed to be his made Sam turn around and walk back to the car at a brisk pace.

Once there, he opened the door on the driver's side and gestured to Dean to scoot over. His brother moved to the passenger side without a word.

"I'm gonna just drive," Sam told him, "And when you want to stop, tell me, and I'll find us a motel for the night. Sound good?"

"Yeah." Dean's voice was still flat, emotionless. "Sounds great, Sammy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's one more chapter to come. Or two, if I'm feeling generous.


End file.
